


Other Inclinations

by beggar_always



Category: Mrs. Henderson Presents, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Pre-Canon, Smut, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-11 04:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beggar_always/pseuds/beggar_always
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Jack would miss out on something like Revuedeville...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Inclinations

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this entire fic is a giant *facepalm* But seriously? Who can watch _Mrs. Henderson Presents_ and _not_ picture Jack Harkness catching a performance? Also, I haven't actually finished anything smutty since like, _November_, so I'm pretty freakin' happy that my Smut Button's not totally broken. [**p.s.** \- I say "Torchwood"...but it's really just Jack during his Torchwood freelance phase....] Warnings for: Historical inaccuracies, ~~flimsy~~ absent plotline, smut.
> 
> (The smut's at the end if you want to skip the chit-chat...)

Jack waited patiently around the corner while his men escorted the female cast members of Revuedeville down the street. He smiled at the chatter and laughter coming from the group; a night on the town was just what his boys needed.

Jack had tried to avoid London since the onset of the war. Too many memories; too much temptation to cross his own timeline (_timelines_, really. Before he'd been stuck on the slow path, Jack had developed a borderline unhealthy fascination with the era...). But orders were orders and Jack knew the Windmill Theatre was someplace he'd never made it to before.

The group waiting at the stage door had finally dispersed and Jack took up position, leaning back against the building, a cigarette dangling artfully from his lips (personally, Jack hated the habit and early 20th century cigarettes left much to be desired, but his men seemed to trust a smoking man more than a non-smoker, and it wasn't like it was likely to kill him, anyway...).

He only had to wait a few minutes before the stage door opened again, revealing three laughing male cast members. They all froze when they spotted Jack, shooting worried looks at the surrounding street. Jack held in his sigh of exasperation; the moral codes of the era had never made much sense to him, but he understood where their caution came from.

"Relax, boys," he drawled as he straightened from the wall and delicately flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "No one's lurking in the shadows." The three men looked to each other.

"Except you, apparently," the lead actor finally spoke up. Jack smiled his most charming smile and gave a slight bow of acknowledgment. "You're American?"

"You've caught me. Captain Jack Harkness, at your service." Jack strode forward and held out his hand confidently. The lead actor hesitated only a moment before shaking his hand in a firm grip.

"Bertie," the man said with a warm smile. God, he was young. One of the other actors behind him rolled his eyes and threw his arm around the third young man.

"We'll just leave you two to it, shall we?" he said, sounding half-annoyed, half-amused. Bertie blushed slightly as the third man leaned in to whisper something in his ear before laughing and joining the second man in a stroll down the street. Bertie awkwardly turned his attention back to Jack.

"I was headed out for a drink, if you'd care to join me," he told Jack, seeming just a bit uncertain.

Jack grinned. "I'd love to."

\-----------------------------

The pub Bertie led Jack to was much what Jack expected. The entrance would have been hidden out of the way even if the building next to it hadn't been a mountain of rubble. The interior was mostly empty, a few men paired off in corners over pints and cigarettes. The somber atmosphere was enough to make Jack pray for the speedy arrival of the disco clubs (and Jack had serious issues with platform shoes...).

"So what's an American doing in London?" Bertie asked once they'd taken up a spot at the end of the bar.

"Thought I'd see the sights," Jack said with a grin. Bertie raised an eyebrow at him and Jack realized this could wouldn't be easy to play. "I've been in this country so long, it's more my home than the States ever were. I volunteered when the war started." Bertie seemed to accept the story well enough, taking a long drink of his beer.

"I wanted to join up," he said softly after a moment.

"Why didn't you?" Jack asked, honestly curious. The reasons men chose not to fight fascinated him just as much as the reasons they did fight. Bertie gave him a sideways look Jack had taken to mean, 'Isn't it obvious?'

"You people and your prejudices," Jack muttered under his breath as he stubbed out his cigarette. Bertie gave him an odd look but didn't comment, finishing off his beer instead.

"I have an early curtain call in the morning," he said as he stood. "Back to mine?" Jack grinned and followed him out.

\-----------------------------

Jack was a bit surprised when they didn't head back toward The Windmill. He'd heard most of the cast and crew had moved into the underground theatre. Bertie had led him down a narrow alley to the cellar of an abandoned pub.

"My uncle owns the building," Bertie explained as he turned on the single light bulb in the underground room. A few barrels still sat in the corner, but most of the space was taken up by a camp bed, a small table, and a trunk overflowing with clothes. "It made more sense for me to move in here and leave more space in the theatre." Jack watched from the doorway as Bertie removed his jacket and sat on the edge of the bed to begin unlacing his shoes. He looked up as he began unbuttoning his shirt and Jack finally stepped into the room, taking off his coat to hang it on the hook next to Bertie's.

Jack appreciated the fact neither one of them seemed to be in a rush to undress. He'd had enough frantic fumbles in the barracks to last him through the rest of the war. Still, it was nice to see Bertie's appreciative look when Jack was finally undressed in front of him.

It'd been awhile since Jack had been in an actual bed (even a camp bed) with someone else. Even longer since he'd been in bed with a man. It felt more than a little luxurious to be stretched out on top of so much naked flesh. Bertie kissed like a man beyond his years, without hesitancy or awkwardness, sighing happily into Jacks mouth when the Captain's hand brushed teasingly over a nipple. Jack could feel the younger man growing hard beneath him, quickly catching up to Jack's own arousal. He moaned with approval as Bertie's hands slid down to his ass, grabbing on and pulling their hips closer together. They thrust against each other for several long minutes, panting against each other's lips between kisses. Jack rolled carefully to his back on the narrow mattress, pulling Bertie with him. He spread his legs to let the other man fit more comfortably on top of him.

"You can fuck me if you want," Jack gasped before sucking the younger man's earlobe into his mouth. Bertie shivered before pushing himself up to give Jack a puzzled look. "What?" The younger man stared at him a moment longer before shaking his head and cupping a hand to spit into.

"Not used to hearing your kind offer," he mumbled before he leaned down to kiss Jack again. Jack didn't have to ask who he meant by _your kind_. (Sometimes he wondered how people in the twentieth century had sex at all.) Lubricants were hard to come by so far into the war, but Bertie was making good use of his own spit and soon he had Jack writhing on two fingers.

"God that feels good," Jack moaned as a third finger slid in. It burned, just a little, but Jack welcomed it; it'd been too long since he'd gotten another man to do this for him. Bertie kissed along his jaw as he pulled his fingers out.

"Allow me," Jack panted, spitting into his own palm before he reached down to wrap his hand around Bertie's erection. Bertie groaned as Jack slicked him up as much as he could. They kept eye contact as Jack helped guide him in. When Bertie was deep as he could go, Jack's eyes slipped shut and his head fell back with a moan. Bertie used the move to suck along Jack's exposed throat.

"Alright?" he murmured, close to Jack's ear. Jack opened his eyes to look at him and nodded.

"Never better," he said with a grin, prompting the actor to kiss his mouth before he pulled back to give him his first thrust.

The boy had enthusiasm, Jack had to give him that. After a few tentative thrusts he was suddenly pounding into Jack, letting out small grunts against Jack's lips. Jack slid a hand between them to stroke his own cock, his other hand gripping tightly at Bertie's glorious ass to encourage him along.

"Fuck yes," Jack whispered at intervals, meeting Bertie's thrusts where he could. Bertie finally found the angle Jack had been waiting for and Jack came with a gasp, panting into Bertie's open mouth. The younger man's faltered as he gave a muttered curse of approval. Jack dropped both hands to Bertie's ass, urging him on through the last few thrusts before the young man grunted and came as well.

There wasn't far for him to go, but Bertie managed to roll off him after a moment and they both laid on their backs, panting up at the ceiling. "I've got to take in the theatre more often," Jack said with a grin as he glanced at the man next to him. Bertie laughed and leaned over to kiss him.

"I do what I can to serve my country and its allies," he murmured, sliding a hand through Jack's hair as they kissed some more. "Can you stay?" The idea of staying was so incredibly tempting. Bertie was a bright spot in a gloomy city. Jack sighed and shook his head regretfully.

"It's frowned upon for officers to miss roll," he said sadly. Still, he took the time to roll over on top of Bertie again, giving him a leisurely kiss before he finally managed to untangle their limbs.

Bertie watched him dress, but made no move for his own clothes, looking delicious as he stretched out nude over the rumpled sheets.

"The Windmill never closes," Bertie commented lightly, trying to sound casual as Jack pulled on his coat.

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe I'll drop back by sometime." He crossed to the bed, bending down for one last kiss. "Get them to have an all male revue and I'll be there opening night; front row," he added with a wink. Bertie's laughter carried him out of the pub cellar and into the cold, London night.

/end


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